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Sunday, November 4, 2012

A year has passed. I’m a bit older, a bit wiser. I’m
starting to get hair in really weird places, man. I feel like I’m turning into Sasquatch.

I’m at the age when I’m supposed to worry about my legacy,
so I’ve started including “penis reduction surgery” on all of my to-do lists,
just in case.

This blog is being presented to you in Gundam Style.

+8 nerd points

I like when sign wavers do the robot. It makes me hope for a
new dance craze: the pole. It’s already being done nationwide by tall white
dudes and 8th grade boys.

I wanted to donate blood for the hurricane, but Californians
would probably keep it for their greedy selves.

Plus, I don’t even know what my type is. I’m usually cool,
as long as she’s not a bitch.

I don’t ask for much, just that Justin Bieber’s real dad
turns out to be Buster Pointdexter.

Why do people call aluminum foil
“tinfoil?” They should just call it foil. It’s like calling dolphin “tunafish”
or Republicans “representatives.”

I think I just found new slang.

It’s that time again. The country is gearing up for the 56th
quadrennial Player Haters Ball.

And I am indecisive with conviction.

Bono, do you want a
sandwich?

Hell maybe!

Romney is rebooting his campaign in an effort to appeal to
the kids.

I’ve started answering my phone as if I’m a political
telemarketer, just to see how many people I can get to hang up.

It’s like Christmas for hermits.

My friend has the new iPhone, which means he has the old
iPhone. He showed me Siri, and I’m kinda jealous, except I don’t want Siri. I
want Roosevelt.

Roosevelt, what’s the
weather like?

“You got a window? Open it.”

Mitt Romney recently complained that the windows on his
wife’s jet don’t open. He obviously never saw Snakes on a Plane.

I booked a trip to Alaska,
and all my fights are nonstop to their point of connection.

California and Alaska are two very
different places. One has a city named Safetytown, the other has a city named
Yakitak.

Fingers crossed.

The kids are all raving about Bon Iver, but I don’t
know. I’m still holding out for Meh Iver.

With as many people and languages as we have, one of them
should have "Iver" mean "butt sex." If not, let’s make that happen.

I’m tired of saying “the shit.” It’s been a thing for so
long that the use of a swear to denote something good has lost its shine. We
need to evolve it into something like “the butt sex.” That’s one maybe the
Republicans won’t be comfortable saying just yet.

People are getting all paranoid about the government’s
increasing use of drones. They don’t realize that we’ve been dealing with
drones for much longer than we’ve noticed.

So, I was singing along to Nerf Herder on the radio, and
then my dad came in and said, “I think that song’s about rock cocaine.”

No, Dad. The song is about a golf shirt. Which is what you
do to a senator for $20 or some cocaine.

When I wake up to see a fat mosquito, I get pissed, like the
sudden need for vengeance. It’s not that I’m going to itch, it’s that the
little fucker stole something from me. I don’t care that it’s probably the
amount of blood I’d lose if I used cheap toilet paper. That shit is mine.

A mosquito at a blood bank would be like the ending of
Scarface.

Or a robber baron with Paul Ryan’s budget plan.

I’m still holding out for Occupy Various Administration
Buildings.

How about the Giants? Getting it done like a boss. Or like
several members of upper management.

And the Tigers got it done like tenured faculty.

According to George Carlin and the FCC, “tits” is a swear
word. I’m now going to start using it whenever I stub my toe.

I saw a sign for a missing dog named Jerome. You can’t get
mad at him. He’s just living up to his name.

Fashion Report: Neon green yoga pants say, “Look at my front
wedgie.”

Republicans are railing against Obama for high gas prices
and his investment in alternative fuels. And if I invented cold fusion, I would
so go on America’s
Got Talent.

And then update my OK Cupid profile.

I finally had someone freak out at me completely unsolicited. I'd been waiting for that to happen for over a year, and when it did, I was ready.

My brother has a butt chin, and I didn’t get that. I have a
butt nose. I just noticed it, and I’m not sure where this places me on the
freak spectrum. Help me out. Do you? Don’t look at the whole thing. Just the
tip. It’s ok, I promise. Please? Just this once to see what it’s like.

Roosevelt, what’s the
weather going to be like tonight?

“It’s going to be hot. Hot and wet. Which is great if you’re
with a lady, but it ain’t no good if you’re in…Sacramento.”

Whenever I clear my throat, I try to make it sound as close
as possible to Transformers.

+6 bachelor points

The idea of a woman having to take the man’s last name in
marriage is bullshit. I’d like my future wife to take someone else’s last name.

Ladies and Gentlemen: Mrs. Bono Takei

I think it’s the job of one out of five dentists to just be a
dick.

I’m surprised the internet has not yet produced a Mitt
Romney ad for Haterade.

And a Bill Clinton ad for Pimpacaine.

I’m not a snob. I drink Pabst Participation Award.

If my name was Mohammed, I’d feel awkward as fuck on school
picture day.

And if my name was Jesus, I’d feel awkward as fuck for being
white.

Problemas del mundo primero: Trying to offset my cabron
footprint.

It’s autumn. You know what that means. Bikini
weather.

GOP 2012: Ermagherd! Surf!

I think it’s less their unwillingness to accept science than
it is their unwillingness to accept anything Al Gore likes. We need him to come
out in favor of dicking the poor.

GOP 2012: Ermagherd! Serfs!

If I had all of the money, I’d buy Sean Connery and have him
sell Spanx on the radio.

Fallacy (adj): Republican

Paul Ryan strikes me as one of those scary gays. You know.
The kind you don’t want to turn your back on because they might try to
eradicate all gay people in order to avoid coming out.

Mak-a me nervous.

Anyone else still ride their bike while wearing an
unbuttoned flannel and pretending you’re Seattle’s
Batman?